Tales of Two Brothers
by PrinceofElsinore
Summary: A collection of stories retelling myths and fairy tales with the German brothers.


This is meant to be the first installation in a series of stories retelling fairytales and myths with my favorite German bros. This first one is more inspired by a myth than it is a retelling of it, though, because it departs a great deal from the original. If anyone doesn't figure it out while reading, I'll tell you what the inspiration was in my note at the end.

This was something very different for me, but it was a fun challenge to write in this style. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: incest, gore, literary pretentions

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya, and the original myth... belongs to the ancient Greeks? Well not really, but it's not mine.

...

Ludovicus Caecus

A long time ago, in a kingdom beyond the seven mountains and the seven lakes, ruled a king of renowned beauty. It was said that his hair was spun of sunrays and his eyes were pieces of the blue sky that had fallen down to earth. His name was Francis.

Now, when Francis was but a prince, he had lived a life of comfort, unburdened by the concerns of rule. He did not know need, and had not a care. Some called his conduct reckless. He gambled, he spent, he hunted, he dueled.

Most reckless of all, though, was his choice in lovers; for Prince Francis had dallied with the stable boys and the lieutenants rather than the maids and ladies.

It came to be that a young warlock by the name of Arthur caught the prince's eye, and unhappy for all who followed was the day that they first tangled. The prince made proclamations of love to Arthur, and for a time it seemed that the magician himself sat under an enchantment, so enamored of the prince was he.

When the time came for Francis to take the throne, however, it became necessary that he find a wife to rule by his side. Arthur tried in vain to convince the king to run away with him, but King Francis, sobered by his responsibility to his subjects, felt bound by duty. He took the bride his mother had chosen for him: Princess Belle of the neighboring kingdom.

It was not until the wedding day that the warlock Arthur learned of the marriage. In a jealous rage, he descended upon the great celebration at the castle and threatened to reveal the secret he shared with the king. Francis, fearful for his position and reputation, openly scorned his former lover and spat on him before the crowds.

Arthur's heart grew cold then, and he issued a foreboding warning: in ten years' time he would return, and if Francis did not recognize him and open his arms to him, the warlock would bring a terrible curse down on him and his kin. Then Arthur turned and disappeared into the night, and was not seen nor heard from for a very, very long time.

Years passed, and King Francis and Queen Belle forgot the warning of the jealous lover. They had a child, a boy of surpassing beauty, with skin as white as snow and eyes like fire that spoke of bloody destiny. He was called Gilbert, and as Prince Gilbert grew he became strong and skilled in hunting, and loved nothing more than accompanying the grown men on their expeditions into the wild.

Now, in the tenth year since the wedding, when Gilbert had reached the age of nine, Queen Belle gave birth to another son. He was called Ludwig, and like his father, he had hair spun of sunrays and eyes like pieces of the blue sky. For the first month of his life he was the happiest babe in the kingdom, for his parents and especially his brother doted on him and tended to his every need and want.

On the night of the king and queen's anniversary, when Prince Ludwig was in his second month of life, an old beggar man in a tattered cloak appeared at the castle gates seeking shelter from a storm. Francis took pity on the beggar and let him in to rest and eat hot soup.

When the old man had had his fill, King Francis asked if there was anything more he could do for him.

"Yes," replied the beggar. "There is one thing. A long time ago a great wrong was done me; only you have the power to correct it."

Bewildered, King Francis replied, "Speak, grandfather, and I will do my best to help you; though I am sure we have never met before, and I do not know you."

The old beggar man threw back the hood of his tattered cloak, and lo, there stood Arthur, as young and beautiful as the last day Francis had laid eyes on him.

"But you do know me," said the warlock, "try as you may have to forget me. I have given you ten years of peace, ten years to reconsider. The time is up. This is your last chance."

King Francis's heart was in truth rent asunder to see his former lover. He concealed his pain, however, for the sake of his wife and sons beside him. His place was with them and with his kingdom; he could not take back the man before him.

"I know you not," he declared. "You are some conjurer of illusions from the countryside, come to trick me for personal gain of wealth or power, no doubt. But I will have you know I do not tolerate ungracious guests; you are no longer welcome here."

As the king's words fell on his ears, Arthur's heart was possessed with the obsession of revenge. He summoned a curse most terrible to cast on Francis, his queen, and his sons.

"Very well," he said. "You leave me no choice." Calling forth the full might of his magical power, the warlock proclaimed: "Your wife now clutches your young son to her breast, but this shall be the last time. For that son, before he reaches his twentieth year, shall commit the vilest acts known to man. He shall kill his father, and bed his mother; thus is the misery you gave me returned on the heads of you and your kin!"

King Francis shouted for the guards, but with a twirl of his cloak Arthur was gone. The king and queen, the doomed parents of the doomed babe, were frozen with horror. Their skin was gooseflesh and their stomachs ice, for they knew of the power of the warlock. What he said, would be.

Late into the night the king and queen secluded themselves in their closet and sought counsel with one another. Before the sun rose the next morning, they went to the babe's nurse with a terrible errand; to go immediately and give the child to a shepherd, who would take him far into the rough country and leave him there to the elements, wolves, and hunger: whatever claimed him first.

The nurse was upset at the task, but dared not disobey her sovereigns. She knew, however, that Prince Gilbert held a particular fondness for his brother, and delayed her departure to allow him his farewell.

"But where are you taking my brother?" asked Prince Gilbert of the nurse.

"Never you mind that, Highness, but you will not be seeing him again," replied she.

"Why can I not see him again? Why can I not visit him where he is going?" asked the prince.

"He is going to live with a family in another kingdom, far away, and he is not to know of his true parentage; thus the curse cannot be fulfilled," lied the nurse.

But Gilbert would tolerate no such a thing. He would not grow up apart from his beloved brother. He determined to follow the nurse and stay with his brother wherever he went. But he was a clever child, and bade his brother farewell in order to deceive the nurse.

When the nurse set out from the castle with the babe in a basket on her arm, Gilbert snuck out behind her. He followed close, with all the stealth he had learned from the men on their hunts. He was young and spry and easily matched pace with the nurse, who waddled and wheezed her way along the road through the hills.

As the sun was rising the nurse came to a shepherd's hut and went inside. Gilbert knew this could not be the new home the nurse had spoken of, so he waited, watchful. When the nurse emerged and started on the road back to the castle, she was empty handed. When the shepherd emerged and started off with his sheep, he carried the basket on his arm.

Gilbert followed the shepherd over hill and stream, until his little feet and little legs could barely hold him upright. Only the thought of his brother spurred him on, through blister upon blister and ache upon ache, until finally, well after midday, the shepherd set down the basket on a bare hillside under the hot sun.

When the shepherd was out of sight, Gilbert ran to his brother and took him into his arms. The basket was too large and cumbersome for him to bring along, and so he held Ludwig to his chest as he stumbled on in search of help.

The prince had never known such hunger and exhaustion as he knew that day, yet he persisted until he could take not a single step further. He collapsed in the shade of a lone tree, utterly spent.

"Little Ludwig, we are surely lost," he cried. "I am only glad that we shall meet our end together. Since you cannot pray, I shall pray for the both of us." And so with his last strength he clasped his hands and lifted his feeble voice to the heavens.

God heard his prayers that day; thus it came about that another shepherd, from the neighboring kingdom, saw the tree under which the princes lay, and thought to himself how fine it would be to sit in its shade and rest a while. The shepherd found the boy and the babe, both in deplorable condition, and his heart was struck with pity. He brought them straightaway back to his humble home and fed them and bade them rest.

The princes stayed a fortnight with the shepherd. Gilbert regained his strength, and Ludwig was nourished with warm sheep's milk. In the meantime, King Francis and Queen Belle ordered the castle guard to search up and down the land for their son Gilbert. When he could not be found, they went into deep mourning for the loss of not one son, but two. With the years, sorrow turned bitter, and the king and queen could not escape their misery, just as Arthur the warlock had promised.

Now the shepherd, while caring for Gilbert and Ludwig, bethought himself of the lord and lady whom he served, who longed for children but had none of their own. Gilbert refused to say whence he came or who he was, and so the shepherd brought the boys before his Lord Roderick and Lady Eliza. The couple were overjoyed to have such beautiful boys, and gladly accepted them into their home as their sons.

The Lord and Lady were beneficent parents to the two boys, who flourished under their care. And though Ludwig thought Roderick and Eliza to be his parents by birth, he retained the innate sense that Gilbert and Gilbert alone was his true family. Thus the Lord and Lady, though their hearts were ever made glad by their sons, remained outside the circle of warm familiarity the brothers drew about themselves. The two were inseparable, and it was often Gilbert who, by his own insistence, fed, clothed, and tutored the younger. He taught him to ride and hunt as well, and when they grew old enough, they had a hunting lodge of their own built in the farthest reach of the kingdom, that they could spend long days riding through the woods together, as they loved best.

Now it was that with the passing years Ludwig became very handsome. He was known throughout the land for his beauty, and equally for his mind, which was sharpened by much reading of scripture, verse, treatises, and all other texts he came across. He was noble and stoic in character, and fearless in the face of danger. Thus he came to be valued greatly by all who knew him, and many more sought him out, either as friend or suitor. But Ludwig kept to himself, and confided his innermost thoughts only to his brother.

All this did not go unmarked by Gilbert, who derived great pleasure from his cherished place in his brother's heart. He guarded it jealously, wishing no one but he to win Ludwig's affections. Gilbert felt that he and his brother were bound and promised to each other, and he desired nothing more than to be all things to Ludwig: caretaker, brother—even lover.

For indeed, in the darkest corners of Gilbert's soul, there lurked a growing need both hideous and ravenous in its intensity. He was not immune to the captivating effects of Ludwig's hair like sunrays and eyes like sky. He was entranced by Ludwig's every assured move, by the hard lines of his muscled body, and by the warm resonance of his deep voice. Gilbert had been dedicated to Ludwig since the day he was born, and had even saved his life all those many years ago. To see the man Ludwig had grown into filled Gilbert with both pride and desire. Ludwig was his: no one else had given him as much or cared for him as much as Gilbert.

And yet Gilbert knew these feelings to be wrong. He knew that what he desired of his brother was forbidden by every law of man, nature, and God. And so he prayed every day and every night for his salvation. Desperate to unburden his breast of this terrible secret, he spilled forth his unspoken fantasies into a journal, which he kept always locked in a chest. As his desire grew, so too did his misery, unable as he was to grasp that which lay so deceptively near.

There came a day when Ludwig, thinking his brother had stolen a favorite pair of boots in a playful trick, entered Gilbert's chamber with the intention of searching it. When he had looked in every corner and every closet, there remained not a door or trunk unopened save for the chest. But try as he might, Ludwig's efforts to pick or bust open the stubborn lock were in vain, and he left empty-handed.

Ludwig remembered the chest, however, and that same evening as he and Gilbert tussled in the grass as they were wont to do, Ludwig slipped his brother's purse from his belt and secreted it into his own pocket.

Inside the purse Ludwig found a key, and thinking to retrieve his boots he returned to Gilbert's chamber before his brother retired to bed. The key fit the lock on the chest, but when Ludwig lifted the lid he found no leather boots within. Instead, his eye lit on the journal, and overcome with curiosity, he took it out and began to read.

Ludwig was gripped with icy horror when he came to what his brother had written concerning him. They were words of lust unlike any Ludwig had read before, and they came from the brother who had his full confidence.

Greater still than Ludwig's horror at this discovery was his pain. He feared that Gilbert regarded him not as a bosom friend, the twin of his soul, but only as an object of vile lust.

Yet he could not believe that his brother's sole purpose in keeping his companionship was a sordid one. He hoped that perhaps his brother could yet be saved and brought back from the path of sin. Thus Ludwig determined to seek the council of one older and wiser than himself, who could advise him as to the resolution of this unhappy plight.

He had heard tell of an old man who lived in the woods, and who was possessed of great wisdom and knowledge of many things. Without delay, Ludwig struck out in search of the wise man's abode.

He travelled all through the night until finally he saw the warm glow of fire through cottage windows. An old man in a tattered cloak answered to his knock.

"Are you the wise man the village people speak of?" asked Ludwig.

"I know naught of peasants' gossip, but I do have knowledge of many other things," was the old man's reply. He bade the young man enter, and promised to give what counsel he could.

When Ludwig had given account of his predicament, however, the old man laughed.

"If you believe your brother can be saved, you are gravely mistaken! His downfall is written in the stars. It cannot be otherwise for one with such damnable desires! He is an irredeemable sinner and God shall punish him!"

At the old man's words Ludwig blazed with anger. He stood and cried: "It cannot be so! My brother has done no wrong in deed, but only in thought. Surely there is a way to lead him back to the path of Godly light, for his soul is pure and good!"

The old man only cackled harder. "Think you so? Soon enough, you shall see your folly. Trust not in your brother!"

Ludwig grew haughty at the man's insolence. "What do you know of such things? You are merely an old beggar man, and lack as much in wisdom as in character!"

At this the old man's countenance darkened. "Fool! You believe you know more than I? Well there is one thing I know that you do not: you are cursed, cursed with sin more terrible even than your brother's! For it has been foretold that before your twentieth year you shall kill your father and bed your mother! So it was spoken, and so it shall be!"

Ludwig's heart grew cold with dread then, for the old man's words had in them the ring of truth and unbreakable magic. He fled from the cottage and deep into the woods, thinking to carry himself as far away from Lord Roderick and Lady Eliza as possible, that the curse might never be fulfilled; for at summer's end he would reach his twentieth year.

Now Gilbert, on finding his brother gone the next morning, grew sick with worry and determined to set out after him. For all his skill in tracking, however, he could not catch his brother, for Ludwig was driven by the terror of sin at his heels.

All the while, the old man watched the flight and pursuit from afar. One night, when Ludwig was deep in wild country, the old man sent to him an enchantment on the wind. Ludwig was overcome with great weariness, and it seemed to him that a gentle hand took his own and guided him to a meadow filled with flowers. There he laid himself down, and fell into a deep sleep.

The flowers on which Ludwig made his bed were Flowers of Forgetting, which steal the memories of the traveller unfortunate enough to come upon them. Thus it was that when Ludwig awoke, he knew neither who he was, nor where was, nor whence he came.

In this bewildered state Ludwig staggered on through the woods in search of food and shelter. He knew not if he be the only soul in existence. Yet come nightfall, he glimpsed in the distance a flickering light, the source of which he could not discern. It was yellow and warm, and he felt himself drawn to it.

At last he reached the clearing whence the light emanated. The sight that greeted him seemed familiar, though he could not recall ever seeing such a thing before: it was fire. Ludwig longed to come closer and warm himself by it, but he was stopped by the sight of a figure crouching at the edge of the ring of dancing light.

Ludwig was curious and fearful in equal measure, and so he concealed himself behind a tree to watch the stranger: a man like himself.

The man drew closer to the fire, and his face was illuminated. Ludwig could scarcely draw breath, so beautiful was the human before him. His skin was white as snow, and his eyes were red as the fire into which he stared.

Unable to contain himself, Ludwig raised his tremulous voice: "Who are you?"

The man sprang to his feet and his hand flew to the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw it. His eyes strained in vain to pierce the darkness beyond his campfire.

"I am Gilbert, son of Roderick," he replied warily. "Who is it that inquires?"

"I know not; I simply am."

Gilbert was perplexed by the curious answer, and waited for the voice to speak again.

"Do you live here?" inquired Ludwig.

"No," responded Gilbert. "I came here in pursuit of a person dearly beloved by me; have you chanced to see any other travelers along your way?"

"None," replied Ludwig.

Gilbert grew vexed. "Show yourself, stranger," he demanded.

When Ludwig stepped into the light, Gilbert was filled with amazement; yet something bade him hold his tongue. Surely, this was Ludwig before him, and yet Ludwig knew him not.

"I suppose you are in need of food and shelter. Please, warm yourself by my fire and share my meal," offered Gilbert.

Ludwig's heart grew light at the invitation, and all fear was banished from his mind. He happily sat and warmed himself and partook of the man's meal.

When Ludwig's stomach was content, Gilbert asked him, "What can you tell me of yourself? Do you truly have no name?"

"Perhaps I did once, but no longer," answered Ludwig. "I'm afraid I can tell you nothing, but that I awoke this morning on a bed of flowers and have been wandering through these woods since, and have seen no trace of another living soul."

Ludwig's words astonished his brother, but in them Gilbert saw opportunity. Though his heart was heavy with guilt, he resolved now to take advantage of his brother's innocence, for only thus could he obtain his heart's darkest desire.

He gave Ludwig wine, and told him impressive tales of his adventures, and sang to him melodious tunes late into the night. Ludwig, having never heard tales nor tunes that he could remember, sat in rapt attention, growing ever more enamored of Gilbert's countenance and voice.

When it came time to retire, they lay together on one bedroll, and Gilbert gave to Ludwig sweet caresses and whispers. Ludwig received them openly, thinking only what a beautiful place was this world he barely knew, that he should find such a companion, who filled him with such pleasures and longings as he had never known. They made love together until the setting of the moon, and as he beheld Ludwig's expressions of rapture, Gilbert eased his conscience with the thought that perhaps, had they not been born brothers, it could have been so.

The next day Gilbert bethought himself of the hunting lodge that had served him and his brother in times past, and which lay in a remote spot of the woods. He thought to take Ludwig there now. Before they set out, Gilbert sent a letter with his messenger bird to Lord Roderick and Lady Eliza, claiming that he had found Ludwig dead, and wished to be alone in his time of mourning.

The hunting lodge seemed to Ludwig a haven in the wide, unknown world. He happily remained there in its comfort and warmth with Gilbert, whom he was more than content to keep as his only acquaintance.

Soon after their arrival, Ludwig thought to ask, "What of the dearly beloved person whom you sought? Do you not still wish to find him?"

Gilbert smiled then. "It no longer matters. I have found you."

Ludwig did not fully understand, but did not pursue a clearer answer. In his heart, he was glad that Gilbert would remain by his side.

And so the brothers lived together as lovers, and had not a thought for the world beyond. They filled their days with hunting and their nights with love-making. Yet Gilbert, glad as he was to see Ludwig's eyes fill with admiration when their gazes met, could not forget the deceit upon which their tenuous happiness was founded. Every night, after Ludwig had fallen asleep, Gilbert prayed for forgiveness, and prayed that Ludwig might never remember or uncover their true relation.

One night, in the evening of the summer when the breeze grows crisp with the promise of frost, a group of trappers, weary from long days of travel, came upon the lodge. Hoping to spend a night in comfort with a roof over their heads, they knocked at the door. The brothers, locked in passionate embrace, heard it not.

Upon receiving no answer, the trappers, being rough and strong men, forced open the door. The sight of the two lovers in the coital act offended them greatly, and, enraged to uncover a bed of sin, the men drove the brothers out.

Gilbert and Ludwig fled for their lives with nothing but their hunting daggers. They ran naked through the woods, far from the hunting lodge, until exhaustion overcame them. They laid themselves down upon beds of moss and gathered leaves over their white bodies to protect against the nipping air.

Ludwig clung to his lover, for his heart was full of fear. Before that night, he had known no man save Gilbert, who was ever kind and loving. The trappers seemed to him wild things undreamed of, and he did not understand their wrath.

"Gilbert, who were those men? Why did they chase us from our home with such hatred in their eyes?" asked he.

"I know not," replied Gilbert, though it was a lie. The trappers could not have known that they had witnessed an incestuous act, but they could plainly recognize accursed sodomy. "Some men are full of bitter hate, and act with no more purpose than to cause great pain. Others are driven by false counsel. They commit terrible acts, believing them to be good or necessary."

"But how could driving us into the woods be good or necessary?" persisted Ludwig.

"It is a fruitless endeavor to be acquainted with the hearts of all men. There are those things concealed in the soul that can never be known nor understood," answered Gilbert with heavy conscience.

Ludwig was unsatisfied, but his head was weary and he contented himself to seek sleep in the peace and warmth of his lover's arms.

In the witching hour of the night, Ludwig was awoken, but by what he could not say. He rose as if under an enchantment, and wandered to a stand of linden trees a stone's throw from where Gilbert lay sleeping. There he found an old man in a tattered cloak who beckoned him near.

"Young man," spoke the stranger, "your mind is troubled. Tell me, what ails you?"

The old man did not seem full of anger, as the trappers had been. His age promised wisdom, and so Ludwig told him of the day's trying events.

The old man chuckled to hear the tale. "Ah, happy ignorant, do you not know? To love a man in such a way is the province of women only! For you it is against the laws of nature and God!"

Ludwig started at the man's response. "But how can this be so? To love Gilbert as I do feels the most natural thing in the world!"

"There are some who think as you do, my son; yet in your case at least, it is not so. For your love profanes still another sacred command," warned the old man. "Do you not know, can you not see, that the man whom you call your lover is in truth your own flesh and blood? He is your brother, whom God and nature forbid to you!"

Suddenly Ludwig was struck with the fear of God, which had theretofore been forgotten with all other things. Cold dread seized his heart, for the old man's words had in them the ring of truth and unbreakable magic. Ludwig fell to his knees under the burden of his sin.

"What must I do?" he implored. "Please tell me what I must do to cleanse myself of sin!"

"You must first prove your repentance before God. Eliminate the origin of the sin, and bring the evidence to me that I may absolve you," commanded the old man.

Before Ludwig could solicit clearer instruction, with a twirl of his cloak the old man was gone. Ludwig rose to his feet once more and, filled with horror and apprehension, staggered back to where Gilbert lay.

Strange emotions, the likes of which he had never known, took hold of Ludwig as he gazed down upon his brother's peaceful countenance. He saw the face of a man who had willfully and knowingly deceived him and led him to depravation. Every ecstatic embrace they had shared was now corrupted in Ludwig's mind to cruel mockery. What he had once found beautiful was now repulsive; his bile rose at it. Oh, wretched was he, as he looked on the still beautiful face of his lover, his brother!

The old man's words went round and round Ludwig's mind as he stood in indecision. Surely, the sin originated in his brother; for how could Ludwig, to whom all but the preceding months was veiled in obscurity, be to blame? Gilbert and Gilbert alone had contrived and executed their most hideous union. Ludwig was but the lamb led to the slaughter.

And yet, even as the anger of betrayal rose within him, he could not help but remember his lover's sweet words and sweeter caresses. The entirety of Ludwig's remembered existence was filled with nothing but the most pleasant recollections of tender love. This was no contrivance of Gilbert's, but true emotion and mutual feeling. Gilbert's affection was undoubtedly genuine.

But the vice of fear closed tighter around Ludwig's heart. It mattered not what Gilbert felt or intended, for he had acted sinfully, and God saw all. Ludwig felt His eye press upon him as he stood on the brink of doubt.

The command of the Almighty proved ineluctable. Ludwig knelt and pressed a final kiss to his lover's lips. The warm touch roused Gilbert, and he returned the gesture with a sigh like breath of cherubim. But his exhalation was cut short; for at that very moment, Ludwig plunged his dagger deep into his brother's gut. Gilbert's eyes widened as one struck with amazement as he gazed his last into his brother's eyes like sky, darkened with the night. He died in the arms of the one for whom he had lived.

Ludwig shuddered to see his brother's dead eyes, their fire quenched, staring into his own. He imagined that from beyond the pale his brother condemned him for his murder. But it was committed in the service of cleansing another sin far worse, and Ludwig took comfort in this thought. He sawed his brother's head from his neck and carried it back to where he had met the old man.

The cloaked figure appeared from between the trees. Ludwig held Gilbert's head before him. "Behold, I bring what you required. I have eliminated the origin of the sin! Now cleanse me!" he demanded.

But the old man merely laughed. "And so is it done! The curse is complete!" Cackling, he threw back his hood, and behold, it was no old man who stood before Ludwig, but Arthur the warlock.

Ludwig was much amazed. "What mean you by this? What of my sin?"

"There is no origin of your sin on earth, for it was written in the stars that it would be!" cackled Arthur. "Oh fool, every step you have taken to escape the curse has only led you to its fulfillment. Remember now what was forgotten!"

With the warlock's words Ludwig's mind was restored. He knew who Gilbert was: his most beloved brother and cherished companion, whose secret desire he had accidentally uncovered. He remembered the curse, too: that he would kill his father and bed his mother.

In despair, Ludwig cried: "But how can this be? Wherefore have I come to this: the most sinful union with and murder of my own dear brother? This is not what the curse foretold! Far better had it been as it was spoken!"

"When you were but a babe your parents, fearful of the curse, meant to expose you. It was your brother who saved you. He, and not your parents, served as your protector. Now bethink yourself of your childhood, Ludwig. Who cared for you? Who instructed you as a father should; who loved you with a mother's tenderness? Not the lord and lady who took you in, but your brother! Thus was Gilbert all to you: father, mother, brother, and in the end lover!"

Ludwig was possessed then with an unholy rage. "This is your doing, not mine! Ever have you twisted my fate to your purposes. But for you, my brother might still live!" With these words he pierced Arthur's heart with his dagger, and the warlock fell to the ground, dead.

Ludwig knelt with Gilbert's head cradled in his arms. "Forgive me brother, for what I did not know. Were it not for my ignorance, I had never bedded nor murdered you. This is my burden to carry: the consequence of my blindness!"

Ludwig grasped his dagger, and in his grief gouged his eyes from their sockets. Blood served for tears, flowing over his cheeks to the ground.

When the blood had dried, he gathered up Arthur's garments and staff and clothed himself as he could. Into the warlock's sack he placed his brother's head. From that day forth, he roamed the land a tattered beggar, carrying with him naught but he who was all things to him: father, mother, brother, lover.

...

**A/N: The inspiring myth is the story of Oedipus, made famous in Sophocles' tragic play Oedipus Tyrannos/Oedipus Rex.**

**"Ludovicus Caecus" is Latin for "Ludwig the blind" (I think? If someone else with Latin knowledge has a correction please let me know!)**


End file.
